You And Me And Nothing More
by R. Scott
Summary: Ashes to Ashes: It was in this moment that he came to the awful realisation that he couldn’t really protect her from anything in this world, much as he’d like to...Gene finds himself helpless as he and Alex have to deal with a terrible loss.


A/N: Hello!

Well, it's all go for me right now- just started college and just turned 17, and I've managed to find time to post this little one-shot...and a huge, _huge_ thank you to **Lucida Bright** for Beta reading it for me. I feel I must warn you that this story deals with a sensitive topic. Nevertheless, I hope you all enjoy.

Ruby :o) x

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Hospitals.

He already had enough reason for hating these sodding buildings. One of the very few places in the world that made him feel…weak. Not just physically, either. Every time he stepped through that threshold, he felt like giving up.

This place was full of dying, lifeless people, reminding him that his next stop here could very well be his last. Not that he tended to dwell on that grim thought too often – how could he with a job like his? – but still… it made him wonder about his purpose in this life. Timing, he'd once said. It's all about timing.

The timing couldn't have been worse.

She didn't know he was here yet. It was one of the rare pleasures he indulged in, this last …year, was it? Watching her when she had no idea he was even there. Something he'd done the very first week she'd been in the job, something he couldn't really stop doing, even when she'd repeatedly asked him to stop. And it became even better after they'd started sleeping together, because instead of just imagining her naked, he could actually visualise it as she stood there in front of him shouting her pretty little head off.

Not now though. Maybe not ever again.

They'd hit a brick wall. But when had things started to go down hill? Both too stubborn to do anything about it…he still didn't even know was 'it' was, even when it had been nearly a year. On and off, was it? A quick shag and then off to work again?

That couldn't be true. He'd fallen arse-over-tit for her the moment she flashed her warrant card. Even more so when she'd flashed everything else. He had a lopsided smile on his face at the memories…but it soon vanished when he laid eyes on her now.

He leant his head on the glass panel that separated him from the ward she was in. She was awake, staring blankly ahead, tired, spent. No make up. No provocative clothing… just one of those hideous grey gowns that the doctors and nurses shoved everyone in. No, not his. Not Bolly. He had no idea how long he stood like that, staring, a million and one thoughts running through his head. He felt numb.

Strange really, how they had wound up here. He so rarely had to deal with this sort of thing at work, and certainly not in his own life. Yet no matter how hard he tried to separate the two they always intertwined somehow. Because his work was his life. Well, it had been until she'd decided to fill his every thought.

They couldn't recover from this. He was certainly not strong enough to pull her through. He wasn't her husband. He was her boss. Maybe not even that anymore. That would be the ultimate quick fix, wouldn't it – just have her transferred off his team and out of his life. Easy-peasy. Back to work and back to being alone.

He didn't even realise he'd trudged in and was now standing beside the bed, feet away from her. Exhaustion suddenly overwhelming him, he sank, defeated, into the plastic chair next to her bed.

She still didn't look at him. Just stared at the wall ahead, a still hand resting on her stomach. The sight made him feel physically ill – a dull sensation, like being car-sick. He knew he had to speak but he couldn't think of anything to say. That had always been the case with her. In many ways he was in awe of her. Practically everything she said annoyed him, turned him on or made him feel like life wasn't worth living without her. Sometimes all three.

"Who told you?"

Her quiet voice sounded like thunder in the silent room and startled him. He hadn't thought she was capable of speaking, looking at her. He leant forward, elbows on knees and hands clasped, and looked down at his feet.

"Shaz." He replied, his voice hoarse. "Wasn't much goin on… nothin' major at least… I thought you were just pullin' a sicky. But she checked up on you, didn't she? Came in and told me."

"And you came straight here?"

He looked up at her now.

"Course I bloody did."

His voice had somehow died to a whisper now. He hadn't even said much, nothing significant at least, and he wanted to keep it that way. He knew, somehow, that whatever he said next would be the wrong thing. That he'd tip her over an edge.

It hadn't even hit him yet, the full implications of this thing. He had to try and be the person she wanted him to be, though he'd never attempted before now. _Now_… Jesus Christ. How the hell had he ended up here? It was like a bizarre movie or shitty TV show and he was the old withered actor, dying on stage in a part that was meant to go to someone else.

He didn't belong here.

He decided to go with his gut instinct. It never lead him astray – did it? Open your mouth and say it.

"Why didn't you tell me…" he began. He cleared his throat and loosened his tie, a sign of distress that only she would recognise. "Why didn't you tell me you were –"

She cut him off, a bitter smile on her face.

"Doesn't matter now, does it?" her voice agonisingly high-pitched. "All worked out for the best really. Just another twist to my unresolved existence in this world. I mean, you _clearly_ aren't father material anyway…"

It felt like he'd been kicked in the stomach. He couldn't stand this. She was talking at a sickening speed, every word that left her dry lips making no sense at all yet hitting him with a pain he couldn't describe.

"…and, how could it even happen anyway? This life…this existence…it isn't even real. It was never _real_, so what does it mean?"

She suddenly looked livid, her eyes still fixed on the wall. He closed his, willing down the sudden lump in his throat, trying to control his ever growing rage as her speech continued.

"I knew I shouldn't have got involved with you, every sensible thing inside me was screaming at me that it would only lead to trouble, to pain, to even more _fucking questions_ and what do you know, here we are! I don't even know right from bloody wrong anymore – what is it suppose to mean? The final nail in my coffin? Is this a test, to see how far I can push myself? Is it telling me I can't get home, _preparing me?"_

"Stop it…" he managed to mutter, sighing, running a hand through his hair and keeping his eyes closed, scared of what he might see.

"That could be it," She continued "If this is all in my head… if I've lost this baby maybe it means I've lost _her_."

Hearing her say it sent it crashing down upon him.

"_Shit_…" he let out, a strange, quiet wail of a noise, his teeth clenched in misery. The bizarre thing was, she was right. He wasn't father material and it had, he supposed, worked out for the best. And he realised this monumental pain that was pulsing through his veins was because of her. He couldn't bear to see her like this, in sheer agony, on the brink of losing her mind. He looked at her again. Finally, their eyes met, and he noticed with a dull horror the tear stains on her face.

"I can't see her anymore, Gene." She whispered in utter terror. "I can't _see her!"_

Of course he was used to her not making sense, used to her coming across as completely mad. But now she had reason to lose the plot, didn't she? Isn't that what happened to some women who went through this?

He let out a long and tired breath, not wanting to take his eyes off of her now.

"What d'you want me to say?" he said, his voice thick, "What the hell am I meant to say to make this right? To make you better? Eh?"

He took her hand in a fierce grip and placed it to his lips, feeling more helpless than he had in a long time. He didn't know anything anymore. Nothing about her, nothing, even, about himself. Staying with her would be the right thing to do, the only thing, but he wasn't sure if he could do it. If he could bear to see her in this much pain, if he could stand by and watch as she lost her sanity.

She sighed, apparently giving up, but making no attempt to remove her hand from his grip, which he could only take as a good sign.

"Just… don't say you're sorry." She said and sniffed, her free hand wiping her eyes. He nodded and pressed a kiss to the back of her hand again in an almost aggressive way, at a loss as to what to do.

It was in this moment that he came to the awful realisation that he couldn't really protect her from anything in this world, much as he'd like to. He couldn't fight her battles… and, to be honest, she'd never liked the fact that he tried to. The very definition of a modern woman, she was. Since the divorce he'd stuck to the easy ones, bed 'em and bin 'em, and generally tried to avoid types like her… more trouble than they were bloody worth.

He'd got that one right.

And now, worst of all, he was trapped. He might as well be bloody handcuffed to her. Even as he'd briefly debated about legging it, he knew it would come to nothing. There was no way in hell he was leaving her now – and if she made a run for it he wouldn't make it easy for her.

"I ain't goin' anywhere Bolls," he muttered, voicing his thoughts aloud. "You know that, don't you?"

He threw a glance at her, searching for a reaction. She was gazing at him sadly, in some sort of wonder, and he felt her squeeze his hand as tightly as she could.

"You've always been there for me," she murmured, shaking her head as if she couldn't believe what she was saying. It seemed as if a sob was about to escape her and she pressed her lips together, her eyes now staring at her hand in his ferocious grip. She looked so lost, as though she might never find her way again. "You're always there… just when I need you."

He stared at her, lost for words, shocked at the intensity of what he felt for her, horrified that she was capable of crippling him this way. He cleared his throat.

"Yeah. Well. It's you, isn't it." He said, and then immediately wondered why he'd said it. What it even meant. "You're…" He heaved a long, weary sigh. He gave up, because even now, he didn't know how on earth to put into words how he felt about her, or if he even wanted to.

He pressed another kiss to the back of her hand, his eyes stinging. He sighed again. "Oh, Bolls…"

"Don't." She said tearfully, slipping her hand from his grip and placing it on his jaw instead. "I'm all right. I'll be OK." But the tears that fell freely down her face betrayed her words.

He felt so useless… her hand felt cold against his cheek.

They sat in silence after that, and he watched as she slowly began to drift off into what he prayed would be a peaceful sleep. He prayed for a lot of things, while he was there, prayed to something he didn't even believe in, not anymore.

He just wanted her back, now. Back to how it was before, in the beginning, when he'd been so obsessed with her he thought he might pass out from the force of it.

He still felt that way, he realised


End file.
